Water Worries

I hold my breath as I walk across the slippery deck towards the pool.  As I remove my flip-flops and place the sterile hotel towel over a white plastic chair, I continue the pep talk I started with myself in the hotel room.  I’m doing this for the kids, I tell myself as I hover over the water and look into its murky depths.

My family and I are spending a rare weekend away in the mountains to try and power down and let off some steam.  But my idea of relaxation is definitely not a dip in a pool that quite possibly could contain bodily fluids. Or even worse, a wayward piece of skin set adrift from a waterlogged scab.

I check one last time for flotsam and jetsam. Seeing none, I ease myself in.  My kids are at the other end thinking up the fastest way to go down the large waterslide that is the main draw for so many youngsters.  When they see me, I am regaled with tips and stories of their various trips.  I look up and survey the waterslide they are so excited about.  It’s a typical slide, which curves nonstop from beginning to end like a giant piece of corkscrew pasta.

I settle in and begin to enjoy myself.  I am content to watch, but my kids haven’t forgotten my promise to go swimming with them.  My idea of “swimming” is to float around lazily like a big manatee.  But they have other plans in mind.

I don’t know where I went wrong, but somewhere between being a kid and having kids, swimming in public pools lost its appeal.  But my promise to explore life outside of my area of comfort is forefront in my mind.  Especially when the opportunity to do so is staring me right in the face.

So, when they ask me to climb the stairs and take a ride down the giant pasta, I reluctantly agree.

I tip toe up the curving stairs and try to ignore an abandoned band aide and a long piece of brown hair stuck to one of the steps.  At the top, the kids inform me that for maximum speed, I must lay flat on my back.  I would rather sit up and take an easy journey down, but I want to impress them.  So I step into the cold water and lie down.  Gently, I push myself into the slide and in a split second; I am shooting downward like a human torpedo.  There are no strait a-ways, and with every turn, I pick up speed.  My stomach begins to churn as I belatedly remember why I don’t go on rides at amusement parks that twist and spin.  Before I can go any further with that thought, the slide spits me out and I skip across the water like a rock.  Water slaps up and over the sides of the pool as my head goes under and my legs pop up in an awkward v.

As I surface, I hear shouts and giggles from above and as I rub the water from my eyes and my vision clears, I see huge smiles directed at me. I smile back.  That wasn’t so bad after all.  Before climbing back out, I pause to enjoy the moment.  I sense the return of a long-buried feeling and realize that I miss being absolutely absorbed in having pure fun, nothing else on my mind.  Suddenly, the pool doesn’t seem quite so filthy.

I grin as I sprint back up the stairs.  I’m going to try and go down backwards this time.